


duae tabulae rasae in quibus nihil scriptum est

by atimi (bertee)



Series: CWRPF: horas non numero [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Ancient Rome, First Meetings, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-13
Updated: 2009-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noble!Jared meets slave!Jensen for the very first time. Chad commentates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	duae tabulae rasae in quibus nihil scriptum est

  
"I'm gonna kick your ass, Padalecki."

Slouched on one of the couches in the Murray household, Jared grinned at his friend. "Bring it on, loser."

He watched in amusement as Chad weighed the small square counter in his hand before readying his arm to let it fly. With concentration reminiscent of something far more serious than a lazy game in the afternoon heat, he lobbed the polished stone towards the upturned pot and groaned in annoyance when it bounced off the side with a clatter. "Fuck!"

Jared laughed, lining up his own counter as he taunted, "Watch and learn, man."

His sailed home neatly, its clang drowned out by another groan of defeat from the older boy. "You suck."

Jared feigned compassion, clapping Chad on the shoulder as he said with mock sincerity, "I know, I know. It must be so hard for you. I mean, of all the things your father can buy you, it's tragic that long arms aren't one of them."

He dangled his hands in Chad's face until they were batted away with the complaint, "Show-off. How is it that you're a fucking midget for the last million years and then grow like eight feet as soon as you hit fifteen? I don't know what god you're praying to, but you need to get me a piece of that action."

"Now, Chad," Jared said solemnly, "it's not the size that matters. It's how you use it."

"You're a dick."

Jared beamed. "A dick who's taller than you."

Chad rolled his eyes and Jared reveled in his new-found superiority. In the twelve years he'd known Chad, he'd always been a year younger, a few inches shorter, and a lot less wealthy than the other boy. While he couldn't do anything about their ages or the wealth of their respective parents, he was well within his rights to gloat about the height advantage the last few months had bestowed on him. It could be the only growth spurt he would ever have, and he intended to make use of it.

Lacking an appropriate comeback, Chad turned his attention back to the game and challenged, "Bet you can't do it with your eyes closed."

"Bet I can," Jared shot back, more out of instinct than confidence in his ability. He tossed his final counter in his hand, offering with a smirk, "After you."

With a bravado perfected by years of reckless stunts in the gardens of his family's estate, Chad rolled his shoulders, drew back his arm, and closed his eyes before released the stone. Jared smiled as it bounced off the tiled floor behind the intended target and skittered to a stop by a pair of sandaled feet. Half-expecting to see Chad's father standing there wearing his usual indulgent smile, he glanced up from the sandals to their wearer but felt a strange nudge of guilt when he saw it was a slave, wondering how long he'd been standing there unnoticed.

His eyes were drawn back to his companion when Chad prompted, "Your turn, Wonder-Boy."

Even with his eyes closed, Jared's thoughts circled around the unidentified slave and he easily overshot the pot, opening his eyes to watch the wall block the flight of his last counter, which then dropped noisily to the ground.

"Ha!" Chad grinned, unfazed by the fact that he'd done no better. "Not so perfect now, are ya?"

"Didn't see you getting it in either..." he retorted but trailed off in confusion when Chad clicked his fingers and waved his hand in the direction of the pot and the scattered counters. Before he could joke that he wasn't a dog and that Chad couldn't just tell him to tidy up the mess that they had both made, he saw the slave move over and start to gather up the counters, belatedly realizing that Chad had been treating the slave like a dog instead of Jared himself.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly unable to get comfortable even when surrounded by soft cushions. Unaware of Jared's unease, Chad tossed some more grapes into his mouth, busying himself with food while Jared wordlessly watched the slave sort the gray and blue counters into separate piles to be used again.

Like any Roman from a noble background, Jared was accustomed to life with slaves. As a child, he'd seen them carrying litters along the roads, running errands for their masters, and working out in the fields as his family's carriage rolled by. When he got older, the rose-tinted view of slaves as happy assistants quickly crumbled, and as unpleasant as he found the capture, selling, and mistreatment of slaves, that too was soon accepted as a fact of life.

Nevertheless, there was something unsettlingly _adult_ about watching his friend give commands to a slave who couldn't be more than a couple of years older than them.

Not that Jared's family didn't own slaves. They were poorer than Chad, whose father had been consul when Jared was ten and still carried political weight, but they could afford a couple of slaves to keep the household running smoothly and had kept the same two since Jared could remember. Jeff and Samantha had spent more time raising Jared than his own parents did, with Jeff tutoring him and playing games with him as a child, and Sam cooking for him and putting him to bed when he was younger. While slaves in the official sense, they raised Jared with a firm hand and, watching Chad's slave pick up the pebbles, he cringed at the thought of Sam's reaction if he'd ever asked her to pick up his toys for him.

Curious, Jared leaned in towards his friend, asking quietly out of courtesy to the nearby slave, "Is he yours?"

"Yep," Chad answered proudly, having no such qualms. "I'll be getting my adult toga soon, and my father thought it was only right that I should have a slave of my own. Y'know, to show off my status and all that. We got him from the market last week."

"What do you need a slave for?" The question came off sounding harsher than intended and he corrected, "I mean, you still live at home, and your house doesn't exactly seem understocked, man."

Chad shrugged. "He tutors me sometimes, but mostly he just cleans stuff up, brings me food, and washes my clothes. Y'know, the usual. He's pretty good at it too; he remembers things, keeps quiet, stays out of my way when I've got company..."

He sent a knowing wink in Jared's direction which went unacknowledged as Jared struggled to adjust to the concept that the ever-idiotic Chad was now grown-up enough to have his own slave. "What's his name?"

Chad looked blank, and the slave in question came to kneel in front of them, silently offering up two bowls of sorted counters which Jared awkwardly took. His head remained bowed, and Jared observed the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, the way his knees dug into the hard tile, and the tattered tunic that had clearly seen better days. Seeing that Chad was still struggling to remember, Jared asked with a carefully neutral tone, "What's your name?"

The slave hesitated, eyes darting up to his master - Chad, of all people - for permission before answering quietly, "Jensen, Sir."

Jared nodded, his mind processing the slave's local accent and running through the possibilities of what that could mean. "Great. Jensen, could you go, uh, refill the wine-"

"And bring us some more grapes," Chad added before Jared could finish with a 'please'. "Oh, and some raspberries too if there are any."

"Yes, Master."

Jensen rose smoothly and departed to the kitchen, leaving Jared free to talk about him without feeling like an insensitive asshole for doing it in his presence.

"How old is he?"

Chad shrugged. "I don't know, eighteen maybe?"

"Is he a foreigner or was he born here?"

"The trader said he was born a slave- Look, why do you care so much about this? I get that you wanna be a lawyer one day, but you don't get to practice on me, dude." Jared pursed his lips in frustration and a light seemed to go on behind Chad's eyes. "Ah!" A smug smile crossed his lips. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"No, I-"

"You are! You're jealous that I've finally got someone to take care of everything for me, and you're still picking up after yourself." He smirked, punching Jared on the arm. "You're not stealing him. Go get your father to buy you your own."

Choosing to utilize the opening rather than contesting the accusation of jealousy, he asked, "Which family did you buy him from?"

Chad's eyes glinted and he leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, "He was one of the Douglas slaves."

Barely able to keep his own mouth closed at the revelation, Jared had to admit that Chad wasn't over-dramatizing this time and whispered back, "Shit, you're kidding? How long was he there for?"

"All his life," Chad stated slowly. "Been in the Douglas household since the day he was born."

"Fuck..." Jared ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he shouldn't be so morbidly excited by this news. "I didn't know any slaves survived."

"He's the only one," Chad divulged with ghoulish glee. "From what I heard, he belonged to the son, Michael, and the wife managed to get him away before the rest were killed."

"Wait." Jared frowned. "Wasn't the son executed as well?"

"Uh-huh. The son’s wife was the only one left alive, and after her husband was killed, she moved away. Guess she didn't want to be associated with the family who tried to overthrow the republic and used their _slaves_ to help them." His nose crinkled. "Can't say I blame her. If you're going to take out the most powerful men in Rome, you should at least have enough friends to back you up instead of sending slaves in to do your dirty work."

Jared swallowed hard at the thought, comparing the quiet, subservient slave he'd seen moments earlier to the stories of the other Douglas slaves. A whole retinue had accompanied the elder Douglas, Kirk, to the Senate House a few months earlier where they had all drawn swords, their master included, and tried to slaughter the senators. They'd failed, and while their master and any surviving slaves had been arrested, the steps of the Senate House had been stained with the blood of some of the Douglas slaves for weeks afterwards. Three days later, Douglas and his son, Michael, had been convicted and crucified along with their slaves, dying in disgrace on the crosses that lined the Appian Way. The notion of a surviving slave, one who could possibly hold the same desire for rebellion, had not even crossed Jared’s mind until now.

"Your slave," he began tentatively. "How do you know he's not going to turn on you? Isn't it kind of a risk?"

Chad waved his hand dismissively. "Nah. We got a good price for him - if people knew there was one left alive, he'd be put down, so the slaver gave us a discount for keeping quiet about his history." Jared decided not to point out that sharing Jensen's background with him didn't technically count as "keeping quiet" and let him continue, "Anyway, he came with assurances. After the wife sold him off, the trader said he spent a few months making sure there was no rebellion in him. Couldn't run the risk of selling a treacherous slave."

Again the picture of the kneeling Jensen slid into Jared's mind, and he felt something unpleasant roll in his gut at the implication of the slave-trader's ‘assurances’. "So he's a good slave?"

"The best," his friend replied. "Say what you want about Michael but he trained him well."

The unpleasant roll returned. "Trained him?" Jared swallowed, slightly nauseated. "Chad, are you sleeping with him?"

Jared's sickness vanished when Chad looked repulsed. "What? No! Dude, I don't fuck men. Even if I do own them. Hell, my parents bought me a guy instead of a chick just so I wouldn't fuck him."

Glad to hear that Chad wasn't having sex with his slave (even if it was because of sexual preferences rather than moral inhibitions), he ventured again, "Do your parents..."

"Ew, no, Padalecki. Didn't I say he was _my_ slave?" He eyed him suspiciously and reached for the last couple of grapes. "Why are you so interested in him anyway? I mean, I get that it's awesome that I finally have my own slave, but you really don't need his entire life history."

"Just making conversation," Jared countered with forced casualness before peering over towards the kitchen. "I'm gonna go grab some bread. You want me to brin- get Jensen to bring anything else in?"

More interested in catching grapes in his mouth, Chad acknowledged him with a quick "I'm good."

Leaving his friend to his food-toss challenge, he wandered into the kitchen. Food was laid out on the tables ready to be served for the evening meal, but Jared was grateful that there were no other slaves currently around. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, watching from behind as Jensen prepared two small dishes of grapes and raspberries and scraped any rotten fruit away with a knife. The blade flashed in the afternoon sunlight, and Jared scrutinized the slave, trying to work out whether he was a rebel who happened to be a good liar or whether he was genuinely free from the taint of Douglas and his slaves.

Unable to draw a firm conclusion, he instead announced his presence by asking, "Is there any fresh bread?"

He felt guilty when Jensen visibly jumped at his presence, wide green eyes locking on his for the first time as he whirled round in surprise, dropping the knife with a clatter. Expecting a tough, sullen slave, like those he'd seen executed a few months ago, Jared was taken aback by the surprisingly soft appearance of the man in front of him and was irrationally relieved that Chad had confirmed he wasn't sleeping with him.

Before he could get any words out, Jensen resumed his submissive posture and answered, "Yes, Sir. Would you like me to bring you some?"

Jared strived to remember what it was he had asked for, but when it clicked, he responded cheerfully, "No, it's fine. Just tell me where it is and I'll get it." Jensen's eyes crept up to his face again, and Jared wanted to smile when he saw the perplexity warring there. "Honestly, just point me at the bread and I'll be all over it. Don't worry."

Jensen bit his lip but informed him, "It's over by the apples." Jared took a step forward, and he spoke in a rush, "I can get it, Sir. Really. You shouldn't have to-"

"I want to," Jared promised with a smile that went unseen by the slave. "You're not going to tell me what I can and can't want, are you?"

The remark was intended as a joke, but he wanted to smack his head against the wall when Jensen went sheet-white and stammered, "N-no, Sir. I'm sorry, S-sir."

"Hey," he soothed, crossing the kitchen in four long strides and stopping in front of Jensen. "It's okay. I'm not going to punish you or anything." Jensen's shoulders relaxed and Jared was stunned to realize that was what he’d been afraid of. Changing the subject, he scanned the food-laden table. "Where's that bread?"

Silently, Jensen pointed to the loaves at the end of the table and Jared grabbed hold of one, privately gleeful at how small the bread seemed in comparison to his apparently still-growing hands. He set to work slicing it up and watched out of the corner of his eye as Jensen returned to his position next to him, preparing the fruits while shooting subtle but confused glances in his direction every few seconds.

The sawing of the bread knife and the occasional thump of metal on wood filled the kitchen, bread crumbs spraying on the table top and on the stone floor from Jared's strokes with the knife. He saw Jensen's nimble fingers pick at the raspberries, the tips stained pink with the juices of the fruit, and offered up some mindless small-talk to fill the muggy air, "Is that a good batch?"

Jensen frowned, hand freezing in mid-air, and he elaborated, "Of raspberries. Is it a good batch?"

"The cook is very skilled at choosing suitable ingredients," Jensen answered with tactful uncertainty.

"No, no, I'm sure she's great," Jared said, not wanting to accidentally malign the unknown cook. "But you get good and bad batches and I was wondering how this one was. Like, if it's too tart, or really sweet, or has a weird texture..."

Picking through the raspberries, Jensen spoke quietly, "I’m sorry, I wouldn't know, Sir. We're not permitted to eat the Master's food."

"Wait, so you've never tried these?" he asked in disbelief. "Not even once?"

"I'm a good slave, Sir," Jensen replied stiffly, head still bowed but tension vibrating off the curve of his spine. "I obey Master Murray's orders."

"I'm not saying you're not." He edged closer, snagging a raspberry between two fingers and holding it up with a smile. "But I'm pretty sure Master Murray would let you try just one."

Jensen ignored the fruit in Jared's hand, concentrating on sorting the rest into a bowl. "It's not my place, Sir."

"C'mon..." He caught Jensen's arm and used his free fingers to gently tilt his head up to face him. There was a moment of doubt when he saw the flash of panic in Jensen's eyes, but he pushed on, hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake. "Just try one." He smiled at him, using every drop of youthful charm at his disposal. "No-one's going to punish you for it, I swear."

The temptation to simply make it an order lingered on his tongue like a bitter aftertaste but he refrained, opting for persuasion rather than manipulation. "Chad won't be angry with you. No-one will even know except for us."

Jensen's pink-tinged fingers curled into an almost-fist, and Jared instantly stepped back, realizing that, far from wanting to attack him, Jensen was trying to resist the instinct to push him away. He held his hands up in apology, still holding the berry between his fingers but knowing that he'd been over-eager as always. "Sorry. I didn't mean to try to force you, I just..." He popped the raspberry into his own mouth and spoke with a lopsided smile, "They're really tasty."

It wasn't a question and Jensen didn't offer an answer. Pretty confident that he wasn't so much a secret revolutionary as a slave who'd been caught in the wrong circumstances, Jared felt an ache of disappointment when Jensen returned to his duties, and blurted out without thinking, "So, Chad tells me that you came from the Douglas household?"

Any doubts he had about Jensen's complicity in the rebellion were swept away like dust in the wind when his head whipped round in shock at the question.

A horrible silence fell over them both and Jared wanted to drag the words back into his mouth and lock them somewhere inside him at the terror on Jensen's face. The slave looked torn between begging for mercy and pleading his case, and after feeling so grown-up now that he had a friend who had a slave, Jared was utterly out of his depth.

He didn't know whether it registered on his face, but Jensen appeared to throw him a lifeline as he composed himself and answered calmly, "Yes, Sir." However, he was reminded that Jensen was barely an adult himself when his nerves crept in and he defended himself helplessly, "I had no part in the rebellion, Sir. That was guaranteed when Master Murray bought me."

"I know." Some sick part of him wanted to press for details on how far the slaver had gone to obtain that guarantee, but ultimately whatever comfort he could offer seemed a far more appealing prospect. "I was just wondering if you'd worked in the kitchen much while you were there."

It was a lie - he'd wondered no such thing - but it had the desired effect of making Jensen into less of a frightened mouse as he turned back to his work. "Yes, Sir. My duties included preparing breakfasts and lunches for my previous Master and Mistress."

Jared bit into a chunk of bread. "What was your specialty? What did they like the most out of the things you made?"

Jensen remained patently confused by the conversation, but his voice became more confident as he said, "They enjoyed fruit in the mornings and the, um, different breads I made."

"Different breads? Wow." Jared grinned, chewing loudly on the foodstuff in question. "You're going to have to make those for Chad, or at least teach me the recipes so I can convince my cook to make them." True, Sam would probably cuff him round the head for telling her how to make bread, but the suggestion was worth it to see a tiny smile touch Jensen's lips.

Seizing the victory, however small, and praying to whatever god had granted him the growth spurt that Jensen would at least accept his friendly gesture, if not his offering of raspberries, Jared held out his hand with the friendly introduction, "Jared Padalecki."

Jensen stared at his hand for a moment, baffled, before cautiously extending his own to be shaken enthusiastically. He still looked at Jared like he was crazy, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he returned politely, "Nice to meet you, Sir."  
  
"Jared." He grinned, releasing Jensen's hand and noticing the pink smear of fruit juice on the inside of both their wrists. "Call me Jared."  
  
Jensen's smile was a faint echo of Jared's but it was there nonetheless. "Nice to meet you, Jared."  



End file.
